Eyes Wide Open
by Tarafina
Summary: He was a patient man, but not a stupid one.


**Title**: Eyes Wide Open  
**Category**: Smallville  
**Genre**: Romance/Angst  
**Pairing**: Chloe/Oliver  
**Rating**: PG13  
**Prompt**: Picture by ellashy  
**Word Count**: 1,654  
**Summary**: He was a patient man, but not a stupid one.

**_Eyes Wide Open_**  
-1/1-

This was one of those moments where for the first time in her life, it wasn't _her _who had to live with the broken heart, but instead she was the one who caused it. Chloe Sullivan had always come in second; she was overlooked, underappreciated, and often she was the friend instead of the lover. But for a moment in time, he had made her feel different. He'd picked her up and put her at the forefront; unused to it, she hadn't even realized it was happening. Chloe had loved, had been loved, but those instances, those fragments of memories compared little to what he'd given her, what they'd shared.

At some point, she'd accepted her life as it was and stopped trying to see anymore than what the surface appeared to be. She ran communications for a group of superheroes that had were really just beginning, still finding their masked footing in a world they'd never known could exist until they took the step to make it so. Having had her fair share of dreams and expectations for her life and never knowing what she was meant to be until Oliver Queen handed her an ear piece and the schematics to a 33.1 warehouse, Chloe hadn't grown up believing she'd be the wizard behind the curtain until one day she was. And now, nearing her thirtieth birthday, she realized that all those weird times in her life, the moments that nobody would believe would or _could _happen unless they lived her life, had made her blind to the most basic and normal of things.

She was twenty-four when they started their _thing_; back then they called it friends-with-benefits and over time they'd never stopped to change the title. Looking back now she knew that their poor attempt at having anything emotionless and more physically-centered had probably only lasted a few weeks, at best. She wasn't the type of woman who didn't grow attached, didn't dig and dig until she knew the whole of the person she was sharing herself. And really, he was just the same. Maybe if she'd been somebody else; a nameless debutante or celebrity-seeker, he might've simply enjoyed it for what it was. But sex became making love and flirting became real conversations. He was who she turned to, who she shared her secrets, doubts, and even the fears she rarely admitted to herself.

Nearly six years and she hadn't realized their non-relationship was the exact opposite. She had always maintained that they lived separately but the truth was that the Watch Tower had a cot she hadn't used in ages, her own bed dispatched in favor of a few double beds for when the guys were just too tired to leave the comm. base. She'd been living with him, sharing his bed, his closet and dresser, his entire living space for a little over five years and she'd been lying to herself the whole time. When he introduced her as his girlfriend, she'd shrugged it off; it was less complicated than explaining they were 'just lovers.' And it wasn't like anybody would have believed them anyway; not after six years of tabloid fodder, joining him at the many public banquets and galas, and standing at his side almost 24/7. Sidekick, she'd assured herself; it made sense that they spent so much time together. What did it matter if they shared motel rooms, every breakfast, lunch and dinner, or that her voice was on his answering machine message? They worked and played together, hard and often, and maybe her heart had been broken one too many times and her defenses had rendered her completely and utterly oblivious!

It was spring, 2016, and yesterday Oliver Queen asked her quite simply, "If I ask you to marry me are you going to admit you've been mine all along?"

And she'd stuttered, all the air leaving her in a heavy rush that made her choke. "W-What?"

He half-smiled but there was something sad in his face, something that made her chest ache. Reaching over, he tucked her long blonde hair behind her ear. "I accepted it was going to take you some time to come around, but I think after six years you're either on the same page or reading a different book…" Lips firming, he shook his head. "I love you… You know that, you've _known _that all along…" He stared searchingly at her and then swallowed tightly. "I picked out your ring three years ago but I knew you weren't ready… I'm patient, but I'm not stupid."

Brows furrowing, she shook her head. "Oliver…"

He sighed shakily. "Look… I'm willing to spend the rest of our lives together. I just wish you'd realize it already began."

With that, he left her to think. He walked out of their house, their _home_, and he didn't return even hours later, as night fell.

She sat on the couch, her laptop discarded to the side, her knees drawn up under her chin, and her brows furrowed in concentration. When in the hell did the most attentive person in the world stop seeing what was right in front of her? It took time; it took tears and a run through of every emotion in the book as she realized what had happened, what she'd _missed_. The memories hit her like a brick; mornings where she woke up and saw him smiling at her, his hair ruffled from sleep and a mug of her favorite coffee steaming in his hand, waiting for her. Nights where sex was the farthest thing from her mind; where she was tired or mentally exhausted and he would lighten the mood, doing everything he could just to make her feel better. Dinner's he made for them, getting her to test his latest concoction as she sat on the countertop, feet swinging back and forth. And she'd laugh when it was horribly bad but eat it for his sake or pull out the take-out menus when it simply wasn't salvageable. Weekends spent lounging on his couch in pajamas or long walks through the city, hand-in-hand while they talked about everything from the headlines in the morning paper to the latest in world-ending enemies. Vacations, birthdays, holidays; they'd spent them together, always involved in each other's lives so much that it hadn't even occurred to her that friends-with-benefits didn't do that, didn't share that much.

It was morning, the rain was coming down in a torrent, and she could see him down the driveway, hands stuffed in his black hoodie as he walked with his head bowed. Was he so sure she would say no? Had she really hurt him _that_ much? In six years, whether she acknowledged it then or not, there had never been anyone else for her but him. He was who she danced with at benefits she went to only to support him. He was who she laughed with, who she held when she slept, who she looked forward to seeing before she fell asleep and every morning she woke up. Six years of the strongest relationship she'd ever had and even when she thought they were only lovers, there was nobody else she trusted more.

There was nobody else at all.

Not for her.

Standing from the couch, her tears drying on her cheeks, she ran for the front door, throwing it open and hurrying down the stairs. He was midway, eyes lifting to find hers, confused, uncertain, even _scared_. She launched herself at him, felt as his arms wrapped around her, caught her easily, and they were turned around, her on the step down from him, looking up in that face she knew so well; every plain, every scar, every inch of masculine perfection. Arms around his shoulders, her hands cupped his neck and the side of his face, thumb stroking down his hair to trace along his ear. Noses brushing, she stared at him, at the way his eyes wouldn't meet hers now.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, eyes burning with a flood of new tears. "I was stupid and blind and you were right… You were so right…" She swallowed tightly, forced the emotion back so she could get out the words now clogging her throat. "It began so long ago; _we _started even before we got together…" Her brows knotted in pained honesty. "And I was scared; I was so scared to love you. But I did, I _do_, I just didn't want to admit it, I didn't want to realize you might not feel the same."

He frowned, brows furrowed. "How could you possibly think I—"

She rolled her eyes. "I think we've already established I was doing very _little _thinking," she interrupted with a hint of mirth. "The point is that I know _now_. I'm not hiding and I'm not pretending. Eyes wide open, Ollie…"

His lips softened slowly, curling at the corners. "You realize this means I'm going to marry you, right?"

With a laugh, she grinned in relief. "After six years, you _better!_"

Chuckling, he hugged her tight, burying his face in her hair. "Smartest dumb person I ever knew, Professor."

Sighing, she smiled. "Watch it, Queen… The last thing you want is a bitter, naggy wife on your hands."

Lifting her up until her legs wrapped around his waist, he held her up so they were face to face, the sadness now replaced with the warmth and love she was used to seeing. "Wife… I like the sound of that."

"It was a long time coming," she murmured, leaning forward until their lips were a mere breath apart.

Rain dribbling down his face, he grinned. "And now you've seen the light."

"Mm…" she agreed. "Now kiss your fiancée, Oliver. She's missed you a lot more than even _she _knew…"

With a laugh, he did just that, and Chloe Sullivan never closed her eyes to him, to _them_, ever again.


End file.
